The next time Draco saw Potter, it was over the floo.
"Oh, hey, Draco," Harry greeted dully.
The blond raised an eyebrow. "Well. With an enthusiastic response like that, I may just have to withhold my love confession. I wouldn't want you to burst a blood vessel or anything. Please, rein in your excitement."
Harry sniffed, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, Dra-a-co," he murmured, voice sounding odd. "I've been visiting Teddy often this week, and I think I c-caught his cold. I figured you were flooing to ask if we could hang out?"
"Actually, I was flooing to see when you wanted your umbrella back, but if I'm being invited, sure."
"What? I just said I'm sick."
"I heard muggles are healed by soup?" Harry made a face, one torn between bemusement and amusement, and Draco squinted into the fire in return. "Sounded bizarre to me as well, but I'm a passable cook, you see, and will use any chance I can get to show you up."
Harry shook his head, sniffling again. "Really, Draco, I'm a m-mess, I don't want you to see me like this."
"Too late," Draco singsonged. "Open up the floo, I'm coming over. We're both grown men, I can handle your kneazle-sniffles and the occasional sneeze."
Harry merely stared and ran a hand through his hair once more, unmoved.
"I'm good company," Draco reminded him helpfully. "I promise to clean when I'm done slaving away as well, just in case you were confusing me for one of your other, more pig-like friends."
Harry sniffed again. "Draco," he warned.
"I'm not scared of you, Potter," Draco sighed. "Will you let me do this for you? I'll be in and out in half an hour. If you were any of my other friends, I wouldn't have even asked before breaking and entering, but decided to respect your privacy and ask first."
"And this has nothing to do with me being an auror who can easily have you arrested for that," Harry replied dryly.
It hadn't. "Maybe a little," Draco said.
Harry exhaled long and hard before nodding. "Alright, fine."
"You seem to be handling Teddy's cold much better than he is," Draco noted. He was stirring the tiny cauldron of soup on the stove and peering over his shoulder at Harry, who was straddling the nearby table's char in order to face him. Said Gryffindor was quietly watching him with droopy eyes.
"No projectile vomiting just yet," Harry mumbled, eyes fluttering shut before just barely opening once more.
Draco turned back to his pot of soup to hide his smile. This felt domestic. Alluringly so, which was dangerous for him. But, Harry was too out of it to really notice, anyway. Why not indulge a little?
Peeking back at his friend, Draco withheld a snigger at the sight of the lightly dozing auror. He felt a little bad for practically forcing himself over, but, to be fair, he would have minded his own damn business if Harry simply told him he was tired. When hearing something as intriguing as, "I don't want you to see me like this," Draco couldn't resist from wanting to do just that.
He began to hum a little, as he usually did to calm Trevor when he cooked because the dog lost its top when he cooked on the stove. Strangely enough, the crup seemed to have a fear of fire on anything but his own tail. Draco wondered if that had something to do with the pup's past.
Lowering the heat wandlessly, Draco moved the pot off the stove area and placed it on the marble countertop. He cooled it, then poured a generous amount in one of Harry's bowls. The ceramic was decorated with what appeared to be sporadically glowing lava beneath the surface. This, of course, was merely part of the design, but it was Draco's favorite out of the other bowl options.
Placing the steaming bowl, a spoon, and a glass of water before his sleepy friend, Draco placed the soup under a heating charm and gently, gently prodded Harry in the shoulder.
"Harry," he called softly, resisting the urge to add any unnecessary endearments.
Green eyes just barely slid open. There was a small grunt, supposedly in reply to his name being called.
Draco rolled his eyes, smiling. "Wake up. I finished the soup, but you can have it after a nap, yeah? Go to bed, you're practically asleep already," love.
Harry sighed, nodded, and made a quickly aborted attempt to get up. He settled with, instead, dropping his forehead to the cool tabletop and encircling his arms around it. He released a long, drawn out groan.
"M'not feeling so good," he said, voice muffled due to speaking into the table.
"I know," beautiful, "but you'll feel better after sleeping in bed. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you awake so long. Let's get you to bed."
Draco gingerly helped Harry stand, then followed the ill man in the direction he assumed the bedrooms were. Harry opened a door and walked into supposedly his bedroom, where he drew back the covers and climbed into bed. Draco followed, not to be creepy, but just so he could check Harry's temperature before leaving. He wasn't sure if the auror was acting so compliant because of his trust and friendship in Draco, or because his sickness was making him weak and vulnerable.
Harry rolled onto his back with a sigh sounding a lot like relief.
Seeing his moment, Draco reached over and pressed the back of his hand to the heated skin.
Dark eyelashes fluttered open to reveal pools of bright green. "Your hand is cold."
"You're just hot," the blond explained. He looked into Harry's eyes and winked. "You're also temperature-hot, but mostly you're just attractive-hot. Even sweaty and plagued by some unknown, werewolf-child-spread illness."
Harry huffed out a laugh, shutting his eyes once more.
"But you should be fine," Draco promised, withdrawing his hand. He held up his wand. "Accio glass of water," he murmured to himself, and then a glass of the chilled beverage flew into the room and into his waiting hand. Draco wandlessly turned off the lights and drew the curtains, enveloping the room in relative darkness, save for the light shining in from the open doorway. Placing the cup on Harry's nightstand, Draco noticed he was being watched. "Do you need anything else?" he asked.
Harry shook his head mutely, breathing deeply. "Thank you," he said, and frowned when hair spilled into his eyes from the previous movement.
"Naturally," Draco replied distractedly, thoughtlessly reaching over and gently brushing the hair aside. "Your hair looks better when you're sick than it does normally, you know that?" He smiled. "It's less... fluffed. Though, I suppose it's lacking fluffiness reflects your lacking health."
"Fluffed," Harry murmured, smile curving on his face. "Why thank you, I try."
"When it's back to the volume we all know and love, floo me?"
"Naturally," Harry parroted, smile cheeky.
Draco, with an affectionate huff, ruffled Harry's sweaty hair. Ignoring the indignant growls he was rewarded with, Draco headed towards the door with a laugh. He left the room, then turned to gently shut the door.
"Draco?" The door was nearly closed, but was stopped just in time by the unexpected call.
"Yes, Harry?" Draco replied, cracking the door open a little further in order to peer inside the dark room.
"Thank you," he repeated.
"You already thanked me," Draco reminded, amused.
"I feel like I'm always calling on you for help," Harry continued, voice growing softer.
"That's what friends are for."
"I haven't done nearly as much for you," the brunette argued.
That's Harry, Draco thought wryly, ill and bedridden and still arguing.
"That's why I'm already best friend material," Draco explained. "You're only a 'close friend', as of now, but you're close."
"Am I, now?" Harry asked, voice playful. "How do I level up?"
"Um." Draco drew a blank. "Defeat the boss of the level?"
"Any helpful cheats?" Harry asked, voice gravely serious. "This battle could be hard."
"Buy him chocolate."
"Of course. Anything else?"
"Grey tea?"
"Anything other than food?" Harry laughed.
"Show some skin?" Draco suggested.
Harry barked out a laugh. "Goodbye, Draco."
Draco smiled and gently shut the door. He kept his steps silent as he trekked back to the kitchen and magicked away all the grime from the pots and pans he used. Levitating the newly cleaned containers and dishware back in their proper places, Draco carefully scripted the ingredients he used, and what foods needed replacement on a nearby scrap of paper. Satisfied with his cleanup and handwriting, Draco placed the note next to the soup and turned to leave.
He hesitated.
He quickly wrote some salves and potions on the back of the previous note that he felt may help Harry recover more quickly, as well as where to buy them cheapest.
Acknowledging he was stalling, Draco sighed and put down the pen—of course the plebeian didn't use quills—and left the house of 12, Grimmauld Place with a smile.